


Here There Be Dragons (Rivamika Week 2015)

by alienheartattack (Sanneke)



Series: Ren Faire AU [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Whiskey & Scotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanneke/pseuds/alienheartattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after first meeting, Levi and Mikasa encounter one another again. Knives are involved again; only this time, so is whiskey. (Note: this work references the events of Sir Levi and Lady Mikasa, as well as the Magic Mike prompt from the TV/movie character challenge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here There Be Dragons (Rivamika Week 2015)

The first thing Levi sees when he enters the dimly-lit bar, a complete stranger on his heels, is a large sign advertising Fireball whiskey shots for four dollars. He sidles up to the bar and takes a seat, not really waiting for the girl to follow. She does, though, seating herself on the stool next to his, her left knee pressing against his right.  
  
“Do you come here a lot?” Mikasa asks, trying to make eye contact with the bartender so she can order a drink.  
  
“Not really,” he admits. “It’s a good bar to drop into when I’m having a shit night, but if I’m going to drink then I’d rather drink at home.”  
  
“I like the way you think,” she says. The bartender walks over and looks at Levi, expecting a drink order from him, but Mikasa cuts in and orders two Fireballs before he can say a word.  
  
Levi looks over at her, raises one eyebrow. “Wasn’t I supposed to buy you a drink?”  
  
“You should have been faster, then,” she answers with an insouciant smile. “You can get the next round. I’m Mikasa, by the way.”  
  
Her name rings a bell in his mind, like he once went to school or on a terrible blind date or something with a girl called Mikasa. He cannot remember, so he doesn’t question her further. He does not know where he would begin. “Levi,” he says, lifting his glass. A little bit of whiskey sloshes over the rim and coats his fingers. “Cheers.” He clinks his shot glass against hers and they down the whiskey at the same time in similar fluid motions, heads tilted back.  
  
Mikasa grunts as her whiskey goes down, scorching her mouth and throat with a pleasant burn. When the bartender clears away their glasses a moment later, she orders two waters. Levi appreciates this, since once he is able to vocalize his distaste for the liquor, the only word that comes out is an indignantly blurted, “ _Cinnamon?!_ ”  
  
She laughs, then passes him a napkin for his sticky fingers. “It’s gross, isn’t it? Now wait a couple of minutes. You’ll see.”  
  
They chat idly for a little (Mikasa’s ability to work the pole, Levi learns, is due to an intense upper-body regimen; he takes notes on his phone as she explains it, wondering whether he can do more pull-ups than she can) before it hits him, a warm, bleary stupor settling over his features, noticeable despite his seemingly superhuman constitution, handily able to drink men twice his size under the table.  
  
Levi flags down the bartender and orders two more shots.  
  


* * *

  
There is an audible thud as Mikasa’s back hits the front door of her apartment, the hinges rattling beneath the impact. “Ow,” she groans, though it is more in surprise than in pain, and resumes kissing Levi. His mouth is hot against hers, sweet and spiced from the whiskey. He is carrying her, her legs around his waist, his hands supporting her ass, after she bet him he could not.  
  
“Ten bucks,” he wagered.  
  
She countered, “A kiss.” She has never been happier to lose.  
  
Suddenly the solid barrier behind her back disappears — Levi still anchors her to him and his lips only falter for a brief moment, she notes with approval — and Eren’s voice slurs dispassionately, “Oh, there you are.”  
  
Mikasa lets out a small disappointed sigh against Levi’s mouth and unhooks her legs from around him, hopping to the ground and turning around to face her friend and roommate. “Hey, Eren,” she greets him, a bright burn of a blush staining her cheeks. “This is Levi.”  
  
“I know you!” Eren shouts, pointing at the newcomer. “Armin! _Armin!_ Come out here!” There is no answer. “ARMIN!” he roars. “Oh, wait, he passed out.”  
  
Mikasa snorts. “You’re drunk, Eren.”  
  
“Yeah, and? So are you. You don’t remember him?” Eren asks, his finger still raised in Levi’s direction. It wobbles a little, as does he, before he braces himself against the door frame. “Do you not remember us? Five, six years ago?”  
  
Levi peers at him for a couple of moments. “Holy shit, the Ren Faire!” he exclaims. “Wait.” He turns to Mikasa. “How old are you?”  
  
“I was fifteen when I met you, so I’m twenty-one now,” she says with a smirk. “It’s legal.” Levi snorts.  
  
“Did you know it was me?” he asks. He looks at her questioningly, but there is something deeper in there, a hunger, a need.  
  
She shrugs, then matches his ardent expression with one of her own. “I had an inkling, but I figured I’d see where the night was going before I asked anything.”  
  
He glances at her coolly, which worries her, but then one corner of his mouth tilts up and his eyes blaze with a light that’s somewhere between intoxicated and exuberant. “Do you still have those knives?” He inches toward her, his senses coming alive as he feels the heat of her body closer and closer to his.  
  
Eren decides it’s probably a good idea to go to bed when he sees that same light in Mikasa’s eyes for a moment, just before she and Levi run off, drunkenly careening toward her bedroom. The knives are on her desk, the three of them fanned out, resting between a little jewelry box and a small piece of cloth embroidered with flowers. She picks them up, enfolding the slivers of steel in her grip before she slips them into the back pocket of her jeans, intending to lead him to their little backyard so they can toss knives at the small tree there. Levi stands slightly inside the room, lingering close to the doorway, appraising the intimate girlishness of the room: the pictures of friends taped to the walls, the multicolored Christmas lights strung up around the ceiling, the floral comforter on the bed, a pair of red heels lying on the floor.  
  
“You like those?” Mikasa asks, gesturing toward the discarded heels. Levi whips his head around to look at her, not realizing he’s been staring at her shoes so intently. “I’ll put them on if you help me take off these insane boots.” She gestures down to her legs, to her black leather riding boots molded firmly to her denim-clad legs.  
  
“You’re on,” he says, striding over to her as she sits on the edge of her bed and undoes the long zipper on each boot, dragging it from knee to ankle. She lifts her left leg so Levi can grasp her ankle, bracing one hand above her heel and the other over the top of her foot. He pulls with all his might, but the boot does not move. Once more, harder this time, and it starts to budge.  
  
“Is that all you’ve got?” she teases him, her voice coming out almost as a purr.  
  
The tone of her voice sparks something in him, the burn of the whiskey and the heat he feels for her threatening to ignite an inferno. “You asked for my help,” he reminds her. Reserving all his strength, he crouches low and yanks the boot from her foot, grinning a victorious drunken rictus as he feels it dislodge, but a moment too late he realizes that he applied too much force, that there is nothing to do to stop him from toppling backward, landing dazed on his ass, sliding against the hardwood floor a few inches. He stops when his back lands against her dresser, rattling the scattered makeup containers atop it. He still holds the discarded boot in his hands, too shocked to move for a moment.  
  
Mikasa stares at him, eyes wide, aghast. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice high and tenuous. Levi nods. Her expression changes then, quickly faltering so he can see that she’s been hiding something the whole time: a titter, quickly dissolving into giggles and guffaws until she is doubled over, laughing at him, her wild cachinnations deafening compared to the otherwise silent apartment.  
  
Levi, at least, gets a chance to see the tables turned. Mikasa, drunkenly oblivious to her position on the bed, spends so much time laughing with her eyes closed that she rolls over to a place where her mattress does not cover, falling forward onto the floor. A bemused guffaw escapes Levi’s mouth as he watches her drop; he is not worried she is hurt, since she starts to laugh harder once she is on the ground.  
  
“Get my other boot,” she gasps between bursts of giggles, running out of breath.  
  
“No!” Levi refuses, tossing her boot at her, the promise of those red heels utterly forgotten. He purposely aims wide; the shoe lands six inches to her right. “You’re on your own!”  
  
“Come onnnn,” Mikasa drawls, reaching over and grabbing Levi’s hand, pulling him to her. She flops onto her back on the floor; Levi follows, landing so he is halfway draped over her torso, his shoulder resting against one of her breasts. He puts one leg over her, straddling her, pressing his hips into hers, grinding her against the floor. “I have knives in my back pocket,” she reminds him.  
  
Levi frowns, then scrambles to his feet and helps her up. Mikasa stumbles, stepping forward into his arms. He looks her up and down, at her flushed and grinning face, her disheveled and partially unbuttoned shirt, wearing one boot and one sock on her feet. She disentangles herself from him and plops down on her bed, wrenching the boot from her other foot. It takes a full minute for her to remove the thing and throw it across the room, a show Levi takes in with a smirk on his face. Mikasa then reaches into her pocket and retrieves the knives, fanning them out in her hand and holding them in front of her face as she strikes a dramatic pose. Levi strides over to the bed and sits down next to her, just in time for her to pluck the center knife from the fan and whip it in the direction of the door, where it sinks in with a loud thunk.  
  
Levi sucks in an appreciative breath, recalling the perfect tension in her arm, the steel in her eyes. “That was a lot hotter than I remembered.”  
  
“I hope you didn’t think it was hot when I was 15, you perv,” she cackles.  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Gross. No, it was cool then. But now we’re both older.” He leans over and kisses her shoulder, up her neck and jaw, over to her ear. “And it is _so_ fucking hot now,” he whispers, his breath teasing her, sending warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach. Mikasa’s eyes flutter closed and she sighs, leaving her off guard long enough for Levi to take one of the remaining knives from her hand and throw it at the door. As before, it lands perfectly next to hers.  
  
She jumps at the sound the knife makes as it cuts into the wood, then looks at him with an impressed expression on her face. “Still got it,” she remarks, then tosses the third knife onto her nightstand and pulls him in for another kiss.  
  
There is no finesse between them. Their kisses soon grow wild, tongues clashing, practically inhaling each other with each breath. There is no leisurely undressing, merely a frantic scramble to disrobe as quickly as possible without straying from the meeting of their lips and bodies for too long. When it is just the two of them, no barriers between them, Mikasa pushes Levi onto his back and climbs astride him. He rests his hands on the slight flare of her hips, pushes them up her body until he is cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.  
  
Mikasa closes her eyes and sighs at the sensations Levi inspires in her, sending bolts of pleasure down her spine, suffusing her body with an anxious, excited energy, making her gasp and mewl. Still, she stifles a yawn, trying to will her body through its drunken exhaustion (dancing on the pole back at the strip club, she realizes, was a lot more tiring than she had imagined) to her goal. She reaches down as Levi palms her breasts, running her hands over his chest, his stomach, down the segmented V of muscle that seems to point like an arrow from his torso to his half-erect cock. Mikasa covers her mouth with her hand, discreetly spitting into her palm, then grasps him in one loose fist, squeezing and stroking him.  
  
Levi’s hands still, simply holding her breasts as she pumps him, first gently, then with a firmer grip as his cock still rests in her hand, not lengthening or hardening as expected. He tenses, his muscles growing taut before he relaxes again and takes her hand in his, wrapping her fingers around his cock to mimic his usual grip, then covering her hand with his and moving it for her, first at a slow pace, then harder and faster as the usual methods do nothing.  
  
After a couple of minutes of trying, he lets out an exasperated sigh and pushes her hands away. “Fucking whiskey dick,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I had too much to drink.”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Mikasa says with a smile. “I’m actually pretty tired,” she says, punctuating her words with a loud yawn. Even in the depths of his anxiety and his embarrassment, Levi can tell she's not faking that sound.  
  
“Usually when this happens I get a boner and can’t come,” he explains. “Not my favorite way to fuck, but at least it’s a lot more fun for you.”  
  
“I want you to come, though,” she tells him, stroking the side of his face. He turns his head and presses a quick kiss to her fingers. “Don’t worry about it. We can try again in the morning if we’re not too hungover,” she says, pulling her blanket over them. She settles herself next to him, enfolding herself around him, her legs tangling with his, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder.  
  
He lets out his own soft yawn. “Yeah, definitely,” he murmurs. By the time Mikasa reaches over and turns off the light, Levi is already asleep, his lips turned up in a sated smile simply from having her in his arms.


End file.
